


The Storm in the Heart of the Sun

by comtessedebussy



Series: Enslaved Mage Verse [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mage Harold Finch, Mages, Magic, Trust Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7321303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Harold is an extremely powerful mage in hiding in a world in which mages are enslaved and collared by humans. He uses his magic to save numbers, and hires John to help him do so; naturally, John and Harold quickly become more than simply employer and employee. </p><p>A short fic about how John and Harold finally confessing their feelings for each other, and the beginning of the unlikeliest of relationships between a mage and a human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storm in the Heart of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this intending it to be part of a longer narrative and a larger verse, but it doesn't look like I'll be writing the longer narrative in the foreseeable future - there are too many other Rinchy things on my plate at the moment! So I thought I'd share what I do have. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Title comes from a quote from Doctor Who and is probably really cheesy, but I couldn't resist it.

When John first met Harold, he had thought Harold was a mage of average ability. More powerful than a human, of course, but nothing to write home about, and certainly not a prime example of why mages were dangerous and had to be collared.

It took him several weeks to figure out that what he thought was weakness was, in reality, control.

The more he grew to know him, the more power he discovered, glowing through the cracks, peeking through the fissures. There weren’t many cracks or fissures in Harold’s impeccable façade; his restraint was, in itself, like a force of nature. But every once in a while, John caught a glimmer of it, and that glimmer alone was brighter than most magic he had seen.

But by that time, Harold had wormed his way into John’s very being, so that he skipped the whole stage of fear, going straight from disbelief that a mediocre mage would want to hire him to awe at the things, the _good_ things, Harold was putting his powers to.

Usually, Harold stayed in the library, using his formidable powers to gather information, create protective spells and weapons for John to carry and use, and guide him long-distance. Engaging in field-work himself risked revealing his abilities, and a manhunt for an uncollared mage would drastically compromise their ability to help numbers. So Harold stayed behind, and helped John, a voice whispering in his ear, an amulet around his neck that glowed in the presence of hostile magic. And sometimes, a glimmer of something else, too, along with their connection. A warmth or affection that was so unfamiliar it took John weeks to recognize it for what it was. He rarely felt it, so tight was Harold’s control, but during the occasional moments of excitement or danger, he felt it flare up in the back of his mind: concern for his wellbeing, relief when he’d won a fight, pride when he’d succeeded at a task, all tinged with something _more_ than just a satisfaction at a job well done.

Except today. Today, through a combination of bad luck, terrible coincidences, and potential enemies, everything had gone to hell in a handbasket, and Harold had ventured out with him. At the moment, they were holding their own against half a dozen collared mages and their handlers, Harold warding off their spells while John shot spells at them with the special weapons Harold had made for him.

It was a stalemate. The collared mages set against them were no match for Harold, who warded off their spells like they were flies, but there were too many of them for John to be able to take any of them out – the protective spells woven by their collective magic were too strong.

In fact, the only way out was Harold’s power. Using more of it than he had been. Revealing it.

John wouldn’t have that.

He turns to Harold.

“You run,” he says. “I can hold them off long enough for you to get away, and then – “

“And then what?” Harold asks, clearly peeved. The other mages’ spells are child’s play to him, John can tell; he’s practically swatting them like flies, and looking annoyed while doing it.

“Then – it doesn’t really matter. You’ll get away and nobody will know – “

“No.” Harold cuts him off before he can finish. “I’m not letting you die to protect my secret.”

“You don’t know that they’ll kill me,” John insists.

“No.” Harold looks grim. “They’ll probably torture you for information first, which I know you’re unlikely to give up, which will make your eventual death even more unpleasant.”

“Harold – “

“I’ve made up my mind, John.” Harold stands up where they’ve been squatting, hiding, behind crates that took some of the brunt of the spells.

Peeking around the corner, they can see the collared mages getting frustrated and fearful. Even put together, their magic has been ineffective, and their handlers – watching from the relative safety of the shield wall their mages have erected – are looking displeased.

They hear a door open. The mages stop their spells, turn around in awe.

A man – a mage- walks in. His collar is unusual, not like the others. It’s thicker, stronger, obviously to hold back more magic. The mages, even the handlers, step back in awe of him.

He doesn’t waste time on formalities. He merely pauses, gathering his magic, and throws the killing spell at them. John can tell it’s a strong one, the strongest he’s ever experienced. His first thought – ridiculous, really, because he knows how powerful Harold is – is to protect Harold. Before he can think, he steps forward.

“John!” Harold shouts, and the next thing he feels is a cocoon of warmth and safety wrapping around him as a wave of Harold’s magic washes over him. It nearly knocks him over with its power, which spreads through the warehouse, knocking the other mages unconscious, throwing the killing spell back where it came from. The next thing John sees is bodies scattered everywhere.

He looks around to Harold, who stands with his hands still raised from the spell, a look of concentration being slowly replaced by horror.

 “Are they- “ John begins.

“Dead? No. Just – just the one who cast the killing spell. I threw it back at him. The others merely experienced it ricocheting at them.” Harold looks shaken, and John realizes that this might well be the first time Harold’s killed anyone. And for what? For him.

“Harold- “ he reaches forward, stretching out a protective hand.

“What were you thinking, John?” John doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or if Harold’s voice actually thunders, but either way, it rings in his ears. Around Harold, several lightbulbs explode in showers of sparks.

Harold looks immediately cowed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – John, _what were you thinking_?” He asks again, his voice deliberately controlled to be calm.

“I wasn’t,” John confessed. “I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to blow your cover.”

Harold sighs. “We need to get out of here before they wake up. This conversation,” he adds, “is not over.”

The trip to the library is short but tense. The silence is thick and heavy between them. When they arrive, Harold doesn’t slam doors or thunder up the stairs. He doesn’t throw things. Any of those options, John thinks, would be preferable to his fuming silence.

“Harold- “ he says desperately.

“You are not expendable, John!” Harold rounds on him. “When you agreed to work for me, you agreed to keep my secret. But I never made you promise to die for it!”

John spreads his hands helplessly. “If anyone finds out that you’re an uncollared mage, they’ll come after you with everything they have, Harold. If that happens, I won’t be able to protect you. You don’t know the kinds of horrible things they’re capable of. The sorts of things they do to their own mages. I can’t let that happen to you.”

“So you thought you would die in noble self-sacrifice for my sake instead?” Harold demands. “Did you ever stop to think how I would feel about that?”

“You’d probably feel guilty,” John admits. “But it wouldn’t be your fault, and then you could hire someone else and go on doing the work we’ve been doing. There’s plenty of mercs in this city to fill my job, but only one of you.”

For a second, John thinks something is going to explode. The computer maybe – but no, Harold wouldn’t make that blow up, not even in his anger. Or maybe the windows. Possibly he’ll fry the power in the whole building.

Then Harold simply – deflates.

“Is that really how little you think you matter to me?” he asks. “Have I truly treated you so poorly that you believe you are nothing more than a tool?”

John blinks. This has nothing to do with how Harold’s treated him, or with what Harold thinks. The fact remains that he _is_ a tool, and far less valuable in the greater scheme of things than someone with Harold’s power and goodness.

“No,” he says helplessly, feeling like he’s groping through the dark with his words. “No, Harold, of course not. But – you’re someone the world can’t afford to lose.” He offers the words to Harold like a peace offering, an olive branch held in a shaking hand.

“And you, John,” Harold says quietly, “are someone I can’t afford to lose.”

John blinks. Harold is looking at him with a wide-eyed, painful honesty, and it would be so easy to turn away, pretend it didn’t happen, push away the affection he sees in Harold’s eyes. But that wouldn’t be fair to Harold, not now that he’s been compromised because of _John._

John can feel Harold’s power in the air, like static electricity. Normally, it’s hidden away behind layers and layers of locks to which Harold holds the keys, but right now, Harold isn’t bothering to – or perhaps even can’t – hold it back. He’s practically emitting sparks himself, like a wire with too much electricity running through it, and John gets flashes of a whole spectrum of emotions coming from Harold – guilt, despair, worry, anger. And, hidden behind them all, a spark here, a spark there, of what is unmistakably affection. Caring. So that even if John walked away now, refused to have this conversation, refused to hear the words Harold was going to tell him, he wouldn’t be able to shut out that feeling of static on his skin, of those sparks. So he stays.

“I have tried to…keep my distance, these past few months,” Harold begins. “You were, after all, my employee, and I am more than used to the fear my power is capable of causing to allow myself to get close. But I confess I have not been able to keep that distance with you, John. All the walls I’ve built up, all of my careful facades, you have broken them down more thoroughly than I thought possible. No, I couldn’t bear to lose you, John, and if it takes revealing myself to keep you safe, I will not hesitate to do it.”

John listens to the words. They make sense, but they also don’t. They fall into place, lining up with what he’s observed – the surges of affection he’s felt coming from Harold, but steadfastly ignored. They certainly make sense with the emotions John can feel emanating from Harold right now, the care and concern that is behind the anger.

But they also don’t, because then that means those weren’t random surges of affection caused by the excitement of the moment, or random spikes of desire. They meant that Harold – felt something for him. _Feels_ something for him. And that couldn’t be true. Just because John had handed his heart over to Harold a long time ago doesn’t mean he was going to get reciprocation.

“What I’m trying to say,” Harold says, clearly frustrated: for someone so brilliant with both code and with words, he seems to be hopelessly lost in a labyrinth of them, “is that I care for you a great deal, John. I need you. Not for your skills, or because of what you can do, but for yourself. I couldn’t stand the thought of you dying for me.” Harold looks at him pleadingly.

John walks towards him like a man sleepwalking.

When he reaches out a hand, Harold _trembles_ at his caress. As if he were a leaf in the wind, and not the most powerful mage John has ever seen. As if he couldn’t turn John to dust with a flick of a finger.

“You mean,” John says slowly, trying out the unfamiliar words, “that you feel something. For me?”

“Yes,” Harold agrees, rather matter-of-factly for someone who looks like he’s about to fall over from John’s very touch.

Wordlessly, John brings their lips together. Harold lets himself be guided, meets John’s lips. The kiss is delicate and chaste at first, Harold uncertain. Then he falls into the kiss, opens himself up and lets John take and take until they’re both breathless. But when John moves to press Harold close, pull him into his arms, Harold pushes him away. Confused, John lets go. He’d tasted bliss for mere moments, but he’s not surprised that it’s over. One way or another, it wouldn’t have lasted.

“John,” Harold says helplessly. “We can’t.”

“Why?” he croaks. He’s prodding at open wounds, but if he can’t have this after everything Harold’s just confessed, after everything he’s just risked for him, John has to know why. If Harold resents that John’s emotionally compromised him ….

“Because of what I am,” Harold says instead, utterly surprising John. “You know how powerful I am, and how dangerous that makes me. You are not safe with me, John.”

It’s so patently ridiculous that John laughs.

“Harold,” he says helplessly. “You just blew your cover and risked your life for me, then told me you have feelings for me. What the _hell_ are you talking about.”

Harold gropes about for the computer chair and sinks down into it. He doesn’t meet John’s eyes.

“I’ve never been collared,” he says. “The power I have, I’ve always been the one who’s had to control it. I wasn’t always as good at it as I am now. I didn’t trust many people with what I was, but there were a handful. Ones I cared for very deeply. I attempted to have relationships with them, before I knew better, and inevitably, I put them in danger because of what I am.”

“What happened?” John asks.

“I – hurt them. Nathan was the first one who trusted me. Insisted that I could control what I was and he wasn’t scared of me. We had an argument once and it started a fire. He was badly burned. He forgave me, but both of us agreed that perhaps it would be best that we remained nothing but friends. And then there was Grace. I thought, with her, that I could try again, that I had learned better, but in the end, my power attracted attention, and faking my death was the only way to keep her safe. So you see, John,” Harold says, finally looking up at him, “why I can’t – why we can’t – do this. Whatever my feelings on the matter, to be with me is to be in danger.”

“Harold,” he says. “I’m already in danger. I get _shot at_ for a living.”

Harold only purses his lips and continues to frown.

“You don’t understand. You haven’t the slightest inkling how much power I have. What you’ve seen, even today, is only a small portion of the power at my command. You would be in constant danger with me. I could hurt you at any moment. To be with me would be akin to carrying a bomb strapped to your chest.”

“I’ve done that too,” John points out. “You saved me from it.” It’s true, but Harold’s expression remains the same steadfast stubbornness.

John approaches, carefully, as if he’s approaching a wild animal that could be spooked at any moment.

“Harold,” he says softly. “I’m not afraid of you. I want you, and nothing you say or do could make me change my mind.”

“You say that because you don’t know what I’m capable of, Mr. Reese.” John doesn’t miss the switch to a more formal title, Harold’s subtle way of pushing him away. “If you had any inkling…you would be afraid of me, and you most certainly wouldn’t want me.”

“Then show me,” he says simply. It’s pretty simple anyway: he’s not scared of Harold, will never be; he’s pretty sure Harold showing him exactly what he’s capable of will do the opposite of pushing him away.

Harold sighs. He looks hopelessly, infinitely sad. But, to John’s surprise, he agrees immediately.

“Very well.” Harold stands, then begins puttering around the library collecting supplies and spell ingredients. “As a demonstration of the full range of my powers would likely leave a large portion of the city in ruins, I will have to transport us elsewhere. If you will bear with me –“ John watches Harold draw complex symbols on the floor in chalk and mix several smelly herbs. Finally, he draws a circle large enough for two and holds his hand out to John.

John walks forward, stepping neatly into the circle. Almost instantly, he’s caught off-guard by a sense of vertigo, before they find themselves in a deserted plain of tall grass, with trees in the distance. Looking up, he sees the sun in the sky in a completely different position than it had been moments ago.

“Where are we?” he asks.

“An uncharted island somewhere in the Pacific,” Harold explains. “I needed to be sure no one would be hurt with my…demonstration.” He still looks unbearably sad, and John desperately wants to pull him closer, to whisper soothing words until whatever burden Harold carries falls away from his shoulders.  “It seems that the only way to make you see reason, and to protect you, is to make you fear me. I take no pleasure in inspiring fear with my capabilities, John, but I would rather have you afraid of me than in danger from me,” he says sadly.

Before John can open his mouth to protest that he’s never going to be afraid of Harold, _ever,_ he feels a change in the air. It’s the same static he felt in the library, but more powerful. The day, which had been sunny moments ago, becomes cloudy. Within seconds, the air around them transforms into a tempest, with sheets of rain falling so thickly that they’re ensconced by impenetrable walls of water. Above them, the sky thunders, and thunders, while the ground below them quakes. They’re caught in between, in a bubble of stillness. John stares in awe as the rain fades away, replaced by lightning, striking the island in the distance here and there, until they’re practically surrounded by a wall of light bright enough to turn the night sky into day. It sets the island on fire around them, and that fire turns into a wall like the wall of water that had surrounded them moments ago, but though the flames crackle angrily and burn red-hot, John feels no heat. Again, Harold’s protecting them in their little bubble, surrounded by the elements he’s conjured up.

He looks at Harold. His hands are raised, channeling his power into the air around them, and there’s a small furrow of concentration in his brow. But he doesn’t look like he’s exerting himself in the least. Instead, he’s watching John carefully. John’s pretty sure he looks completely awestruck.

“You can do all this?” he asks dumbly. The answer is obvious, but John’s too dumbfounded by the sheer power Harold is channeling to say something more coherent.

“Yes. I can literally conjure up tempests, or burn cities to the ground, or turn the unworthy to ash.” Harold says. “The Bible speaks of a God that razed cities to the ground and smote the sinful. Sometimes I wonder if those stories weren’t written down when, back at the dawn of time, my kind were free to do with their powers as they pleased. Perhaps the gods of ancient legends are simply those like me raining down anger or vengeance on humans.”

Around them, the wall of fire falls away. Instead, the wind picks up, ruffling their hair, ringing in their ears. The noise of it rises and rises, until John realizes the wind itself is practically tangible. It howls angrily and surrounds them, and suddenly, as they stand, a hurricane spins around them. John looks up to see a clear sky. They’re standing in the eye of the storm, in the calm that feels like a powder keg about to blow.

“So you see, John,” Harold continues, “what I am capable of, and why you should stay away from me. For your own sake.”

John kisses him.

Harold kisses back. For a moment, they literally kiss in the eye of the storm, the hurricane howling around them as Harold returns the kiss. Then everything falls deathly, completely silent as Harold’s hands, which had been channeling magic, grab John’s lapels and cling to him. They stand somewhere on a deserted island, with everything on it razed to the ground, and lose themselves in each other.

But again, it’s Harold who breaks away.

“John,” he says helplessly. “You can’t possibly mean that after,” he waves a hand around, “what you’ve seen.”

John finally looks around. Everything is indeed razed to the ground. Where there had been grass and trees, they’re flattened or burned or lying in splinters. It looks – well, exactly like a hurricane and a forest fire had passed through, leaving nothing living or intact. It’s a breathtaking, dystopian wilderness, the feeling of being somewhere practically prehistoric, untouched by the hands of humanity, ravaged by the breathtaking forces of nature.

But where they stand, in their small little circle, the grass is till green, the air fresh. A tiny spot in a wasteland of desolation where they’re safe, because Harold had kept the awesome forces he had conjured up at bay.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he says, and he’s never meant anything more in his entire life.

Harold looks at him uncomprehendingly. “But don’t you see what I’m capable of?” he asks, his voice rising in desperation. “How can you possibly stand to be around me now that you know what I can do? You have proof now that I’m dangerous, you should be running for your life, I could have hurt you a dozen times over, you shouldn’t be with me -  “ It’s a testament to Harold’s desperation that he goes from the eloquent complete sentences that he uses even in the most trying of times to unfinished phrases.

“Harold,” John interrupts. He takes Harold’s hands, runs his thumb over the palms and traces the lines. John’s just watched these hands control a practically celestial amount of magical power, but he’s never known anything but gentleness at their touch. He can’t count the number of times Harold had saved him with these hands, healing him or blocking spells. “Don’t you think that decision is for me to make?”

Harold opens his mouth and closes it again silently.

“You – “ he begins helplessly.

“You told me that if I knew what you were capable of, that I’d be afraid. That I wouldn’t want you. You’ve shown me how powerful you are, but I’m not afraid of you, Harold. And if you’ll have me, I want you.” After a moment, he adds, shyly, “I trust you.”

Harold looks – broken. Emotions flutter over his face- helplessness, and disbelief, and then, briefly, hope, before it’s replaced by awe. He’s shaking, and it takes John a moment to realize that tears glisten at his eyes.

“No one who knew who I was has ever said those words to me,” he confesses brokenly.

John pulls him close, and this time, Harold permits the embrace. “I trust you,” he whispers against Harold’s skin. “I trust you,” he whispers into Harold’s ear. “I trust you,” against the skin of his neck, peppered with soft kisses. “I trust you,” he whispers as he brings their mouths together for a kiss. “I trust you,” he whispers against Harold’s lips.

Harold shakes in his arms and returns the kiss. 


End file.
